part0033

Caesar balanced his hedge trimmers in one hand and shook Peter’s hand with the other. “Do you do the pruning?” he asked.

I gave Peter a nudge. “Oh!” he said. “Oh, yes! I’m most interested in learning about this azalea—” He stopped when he realized Caesar wasn’t listening. He was too busy staring at the police tape blocking Karen’s door.

“She lives there?” he asked.

“It’s upsetting, isn’t it?” Peter said. “You’re fond of Karen?”

“She’s a good worker.” Caesar turned to me. “Where’s your azalea?”

“Right this way,” I said. I ushered both men into the elevator and up to the third floor, and then up the stairs to the roof, while Peter made small talk about the fine weather we’d been enjoying.

To prove his point, our rooftop was downright perfect that afternoon. I flung my arms wide showing off the plethora of potted flowers, trellises, and benches my neighbors and I had arranged. Candy and I are in charge of the plants, Wilson helps whenever we need brawn, and Peter joins me for champagne under the arbor anytime I invite him.

Karen’s role? She built everything—from the claw-foot bathtub fountain, to the railing around the perimeter. That railing had kept me safe when a killer tried to—

“Where’s this azalea?” Caesar demanded.

I pointed, but in case you haven’t guessed, the plant in question needed zero pruning.

“It’s looks fine.” He frowned at the plant. “Don’t trim it until next fall.”

“Oh, thank goodness! I was afraid I was neglecting it, you see.”

“No, I don’t see.” He frowned at the other plants. “Everything up here is in good shape. ”

I admitted I do like to keep things tidy. “Although this little garden pales in comparison to what you and Isobel Rigby created.” I nodded encouragement, but Caesar headed for the stairs.

“I should get back to work now,” he said over his shoulder.

Not on your life, Mr. Newland.

I veritably jumped across the roof and landed in his path. “Stay and sit a spell,” I said all breezy-like.

“It’s a beautiful day.” Peter waved toward the Blue Ridge Mountains in the distance.

Caesar muttered something about some rose beds that needed mulching, but proved no match for my bodyguard and me. Together we manhandled him onto the nearest bench, I took the seat adjacent, and Peter took the bench opposite.

“Now then,” I said once we all caught our breath. “We were discussing Mrs. Rigby.”

I smiled. “Do you think she would like my garden, Caesar?”

This was no time to take offense. I continued smiling. “I suppose it’s not formal enough?” I tilted my head toward Karen’s bathtub fountain, and he agreed.

“Mrs. Rigby and Mr. Oscar liked formal,” he said.

“Pierpont’s great uncle,” I informed Peter, and Caesar told us Great Uncle Oscar liked Italian gardens.

“Did you ever find him?” I asked. “You know, when he got misplaced?”

His answer was sometimes. “But Mr. Oscar always asked me not to turn him in.”

I blinked twice. “He got himself misplaced on purpose?”

“The children liked to find him.”

“Piers and his cousin Coco,” I told Peter.

“Like real-life hide and seek,” Caesar said, and again mentioned that silly mulching project he had planned for the afternoon. He made as if to escape, but I pulled him back down. “Sit a spell!” I chirped.

“Why am I here?” he asked point blank, and I point blank told him .

“Because of Karen, of course.”

“Jessie and I are desperate to find her,” Peter said.

“Safe and sound,” we added in unison.

Caesar looked back and forth between us. “I don’t know nothing.”

“Come on, Caesar,” I begged. “You’ve worked there a long time. You must know something.”

“I keep myself to myself.”

Peter sat forward. “Who doesn’t keep themselves to themselves?”

The gardener scowled.

“Who likes whom?” Peter put things a bit more bluntly and pointed to me. “Jessie writes romance novels—she has excellent intuition about matters of the heart.”

Believe it or not, Caesar gave it some thought. “You think a matter of the heart has some bearing on all this?” he asked me.

“It is possible, no?”

He shrugged. “Mallory, then.”

“Pierpont’s chauffeur and pilot,” I told Peter, but kept my focus on Caesar. “What about Mallory?” I asked him. “What matter of the heart?”

“Wayne!?” I jumped and almost knocked over that well-pruned azalea.

“The dead man?” Peter asked, and Caesar told us Mallory “had her eye” on Wayne. Peter asked if Wayne ever had his eye on Mallory, but he claimed not.

“She’s too young for him,” Caesar said. “Wayne had his head in the clouds, but not about that.”

“So nothing came of it?” I asked. “Of Mallory’s infatuation?”

“Wayne let her tag along sometimes,” he answered. “He took her to the Stopwatch a few times.”

It took me a minute. “The sports bar out on Route 53.”

“Mallory liked sports?” Peter asked.

“Mallory liked Wayne,” Caesar answered impatiently and informed us he had work to do. He stood up, but once again my bodyguard and I wrestled him back down .

“What?” he snapped.

“Caesar,” I pleaded, “I’m wondering about other infatuations at the Rigby Estate.” I offered a meaningful look. “Perhaps something a little less recent?”

He turned to Peter. “What is she talking about?”

“You,” Peter said. “She wants to know about you and Pierpont’s mother.”

Caesar feigned confusion, but since my neighbor had already adopted the honesty is the best policy policy—

“Did you have an affair with Isobel Rigby?” I asked point blank, and the gardener laughed out loud. Considering I had yet to see the guy smile, this was truly unexpected.

He gave it one last guffaw. “No!” he said. “Why did you think that?”

“I heard you were soil mates,” I said. “Soil-soul? Do you get it?”

A groan worthy of Wilson Rye. “It wasn’t me who—”

I sat forward. “Who what?” I demanded. “Who?”

“Who?” Peter asked.

“The butler,” Caesar answered.

I shook my head. “Are you trying to tell me Gerald had an affair with Pierpont’s mother?” I was incredulous, but the gardener merely shrugged.

“I keep myself to myself,” he said.

“I don’t need babysitting,” Caesar informed us as he stepped into the elevator.

Peter and I stepped back and waved goodbye, and the minute the gardener disappeared, I turned on my heel. “I’m off to the estate with this shocking and surprising news!” I said over my shoulder. “I’ll just grab my purse and—”

“Don’t you want to hear my news?”

I turned around. “From Karen’s place,” I said.

Peter smiled broadly and patted his chest. “I am an excellent sleuth.”

As we walked into my condo, I asked if he had eaten lunch .

He had, but he sat down at the kitchen counter and informed me he had not eaten dessert. He looked up and wiggled his eyebrows. “Caesar mentioned Oreos.”

“Oreos might inspire us,” I suggested.

“They are Karen’s favorite, after all.”

I told the man he’s a bad influence and dug into the freezer for a package of Oreos. Trust me, any friend of Karen Sembler keeps a ready stock.

“Milk, too?” Peter asked.

“Duh.” I poured two glasses and took the other seat at the counter. “To Karen,” I said, but as we tapped glasses he noticed the light flashing on my landline. He tilted his head. “Shouldn’t you listen to that?”

Heck no. I told him listening to Ian and Amanda Crawcheck would be even worse for my health than my current lunch, reached over, and clicked delete a few hundred times. “They’ve been calling me all morning,” I said. “On my cell phone, and here, too.” I hit the final delete. “So?” I asked. “You were sleuthing this morning?”

“Doing the exact opposite of you.” Peter again indicated my phone and mentioned the messages on Karen’s. “I listened to everything again,” he said and also informed me two more decorators had called since the weekend. He smiled. “So take a guess what I did, Jessie.”

“You called them back, of course.”

“Initiative! A sleuth’s got to do what a sleuth’s got to do,” he reminded me as he dunked his Oreo.

I smiled and dipped my own Oreo. “So, when I called the decorators the other day, I lied,” I said. “I made up some nonsense that I’m Karen’s administrative assistant. How about you?”

“I’m her new delivery boy.”

“Delivery boy!?” I dropped my cookie completely and got up to find a spoon.

Peter agreed the notion was absurd. “But no more ridiculous than me being your bodyguard,” he said, and as I fished the drowned Oreo from my glass, he reminded me these had been phone calls, not face to face meetings. “They seemed to buy it, Jessie. ”

“One assumes they’ve heard about the murder?” I asked, and yes, everyone had watched Wilson’s press conference.

“I told the decorators this crime at the Rigby Estate was bound to set Karen’s schedule back,” Peter said. “I told them she won’t be able to take on any new projects for quite a while.” He put down his cookie and raised an eyebrow. “And that certainly landed me an earful.”

“Oh, yes. They’re all jealous of Pierpont. They think he’s hogging all of her time.”

I thought about it. “He is,” I said. “Or at least he was before she got kidnapped.”

Peter sighed and reported that all five decorators claimed Pierpont was faking his interest in Karen in order to get her to work exclusively at the Rigby Estate.

“That is not true!” I said indignantly. “Piers loves Karen! I’m sure of it. Adelé Nightingale knows these things.”

Peter waved his next Oreo to calm me down. “I know that, and you know that, and Adelé Nightingale knows that, but evidently Karen’s decorator clients do not know.”

“What did you tell them?” I asked.

“What’s important is what they told me,” he said. “Everyone insisted she should devote only half her time to her boyfriend’s damn mansion. Damn mansion,” he repeated. “That’s what they called it, Jessie.”

I sighed. “Continuing to do some work for her other clients does make sense,” I conceded. “She doesn’t want to lose their business.”

“Let’s give her that advice once she gets home,” Peter suggested, and we again clinked our milk glasses. “Safe and sound,” we added.